Rosemary for Rememberance
by ginny1123
Summary: After the second war against Voldemort has ended, Ginny waits for all her loved ones to come home. This was written before OotP and therefore may not fit many readers perceptions of the characters, but I think it still fits canon pretty well.


Molly Weasley had gotten it into her head to dig up and plant in a new garden. Ginny remembered her announcing it at the dinner table, the day after it all ended, speaking as if gardening was a completely rational topic and that Voldemort had been nothing more than a minor household pest. They had all stared at her as if she were mad. Of course, at that time, all of them meant Arthur, George, and Ginny herself. None of the others had been home in the longest time-some, such as Percy and Fred, would never return. They had all played their roles in the war, albeit some smaller than others.  
  
"Mum," George challenged, rather bravely in Ginny's opinion. "Are you sure that's such a good idea now?"  
  
"Oh, it won't be that difficult," Molly responded. "Now that all the fighting is ending, I'll have a lot of free time; Ginny can help, once things start slowing down at St. Mungo's." Ginny began to protest, but quickly desisted. It was true. Ever since the tide had changed in favour of the Order of the Phoenix and it became apparent that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were slowly losing ground, there had been far fewer casualties at the hospital, where Ginny had volunteered her services since leaving Hogwarts. Only two days ago, she had seen Neville Longbottom being wheeled in, badly burned from a misaimed Melting Curse and clutching her hand, telling her over and over again: "We're almost there, Ginny, we're almost there."  
  
It had been impossible for her to understand how anyone in so much pain could be so overjoyed. They were all like, the victims and the caretakers, battered and beaten and dying; for years they had all held onto the hope that eventually good would overcome evil, that others would succeed where they had failed. Perhaps one day they would not have to live in fear. After easing Neville with a Sleeping Draught, Ginny had shut herself in a broom closet for an hour, recalling her own hopes, each with their own distinct face, each name as oft repeated as a prayer. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Harry.  
  
Shaking free of her reveries, Ginny sighed, seeing the expectant gleam in her mother's eyes. "Sure, I'll help." Anything, so long as they came home safely. Bill, Charlie, George, Ron, Hermione, Harry.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that night, Ginny found George down at the river, silvery, almost phantom-like, in the moonlight. Her brother gave no sign of acknowledgement as she settled down beside him, their backs resting against the cool column of the Weeping Willow. "Couldn't sleep?" he muttered several silent moments later, his face a never changing mask. Their mother used to scold the twins until she lost her voice, attempting to impress the need for responsibility and seriousness in the incorrigible pair of pranksters. How long had it been since he had smiled, or any of them for a fact? Most days, she told herself that, even if it meant a lifetime of being a guinea pig for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, she would do anything for a glimpse of George as he had been.  
  
Instead, she settled for resting her ruddy head upon his shoulder, being careful of his injured leg, still tender after all these months. "We should be happy, shouldn't we, George? We waited all these years for Vol..You-Know-Who to be defeated." She could hear it now. 'Don't be afraid of a name, Ginny. It only gives him more power over you.' "It doesn't feel as if we've won anything!"  
  
"I wish I knew, little sister. I suppose we should be happy, but I'm not. I'm afraid that this war took too much.I don't want to have everything like it was without." His lips fused together in a tight line, George refused to continue.  
  
Without Fred. Out of them all, George had suffered the most with the loss of their brother-his twin. Charlie used to joke it was impossible to tell where Fred left off and George began; they shared a face and the wonderful sense of mischief that gave birth to Molly's grey hairs and could break the nerves of the strongest Hogwarts teacher. Yet, Ginny reflected, none of them had truly understood the twins. Under the guise of what Mum had considered a frivolous business venture-the joke shop-her brothers had provided a safe house for members of the Order, offering simple luxuries such as a warm meal, clean clothes, and a chance to rest. And they had paid for it.  
  
Ginny spread her hand against George's twisted leg, sensing, rather than feeling the scar tissue that crept along that limb like a grotesque vine, imagining the pain generated by strained tendons and desiccated muscles. "I really wish you'd come back to St. Mungo's," she offered carefully, aware what a touchy subject this could be. "They might be able to speed along the healing process."  
  
"No." The response was softly spoken, but quite firm. "Thanks Ginny, I mean that, but no thanks."  
  
She left her hand where it war, as if the warmth of her touch could work miracles. "It won't bring him back, George."  
  
His body tensed and Ginny knew he was trying to pull away. "It should have been me, Ginny. Not Fred-it was my night to keep watch and I asked him to stay to play a round of Exploding Snap. If I hadn't asked, Fred would be home right now with Angelina and the kids! What's gimp leg compared to Fred's death?"  
  
Cedric. My parents. Sirius. Their deaths haunt me, Ginny. It won't risk your life as well. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure who she addressed.  
  
George sighed, slinging his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. "I miss him, little sister. Miss them all."  
  
Her hand rose to wipe away the silvery trails that glistened on his cheek. Who would fill the Burrow with beautiful cacophonies of experimental explosions? "Me too."  
  
* * *  
  
For several weeks, the Weasley women threw themselves into preparing the yard for planting. They could have cut the time in half by employing magical aids, but Molly insisted "It'll mean much more if we do all the work ourselves." Each day, Ginny, following her mother's dictates, turned huge clumps of crumbling sod, and hoisted rocks of assorted shapes and sizes. Molly had worked out a basic plan of the garden that made Ginny both want to moan and marvel at how Harry had managed so many summers of manual labour at the Dursley's.  
  
'I'll bet you're glad you'll never have to go back to those awful people again,' she had reminded him, her sides aching with laughter as she watched him play with the Dursley's annual Christmas gift-a piece of lint. Harry shrugged, his eyes darkening to a deep emerald, all signs of mirth giving way to his now signature sobriety. A chill of regret slashed down Ginny's spine. 'Harry.I didn't mean.'  
  
He waved away her apologies, a bit absentmindedly. 'S'okay, Ginny. Sometimes I just wish I could remember what it was like, having a family that loved me.'  
  
Sliding down beside him to a spot on the common room floor, Ginny laid her hand atop his. 'You do have a family that loves you, Harry-black hair or not-you're a Weasley. You have Remus and Tonks and Dumbledore.' Summoning all the courage that Gryffindors were supposedly heir to, she wove her fingers through his, relishing the feel of his Quidditch hardened skin against hers. 'You have ME.always, Harry.'  
  
Screams of disappointment and embarrassment raged through her as he took his hand out from under hers. After her first year, she had sworn that she would not let Harry know of her feelings for him-at least, not until she thought he might possibly feel something in return. At that moment, Ginny wanted the world around her to disappear, or hole up in her dorm for a good cry. Until she became conscious of a strong arm wrapping itself about her shoulders and of the warmth of Harry's body next to hers. Suddenly, the heat of shame within her fanned itself into something else, something far more delicious.  
  
"Charlie!!!" Molly Weasley's voice rang joyfully through the air; she nearly bowled Ginny over in her rush to the gate. By the time Ginny caught up to her mother, the front of Charlie's robes was utterly soaked through by Molly's tears.  
  
"It's all right, Mum. I'm home now." He looked different, Ginny noted, more mature. Charlie's figure, so much like the twins, was narrower from years of harrowing work or lack of food-she didn't know which. His hair seemed a little over-grown; this, with a good amount of rust coloured stubble, gave her brother a bit of a dangerous air. The greatest different was in the eyes, though; they were dull with exhaustion, heavy with horror and sorrow. Ginny knew that look well, it never left George's eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
"At last!" Heaving a dramatic sigh as she placed the last plate back into the cupboard, Ginny sagged against the scarred kitchen counter, her eyes heavy with fatigue, rebellious tendrils of red hair curling about her face. "How do Muggles do it all without magic?"  
  
Molly frowned at her daughter's antics; occasionally she still required her children to do chores "Muggle style", rationalizing that it never did good to become overly dependent on magic. "Honestly, Virginia Weasley! The way you go on, a person would think you were washing dishes for an army!"  
  
"Mum, you cooked enough for two armies!" Ginny laughed, neatly ducking the hand that came swatting down towards her. Leaving her mother to grumble good naturedly, she sauntered out into the warmth of the early summer dusk, looking for Charlie. With all their mother's flustered excitement and the preparations for a homecoming supper (the menu comprised entirely of Charlie's favourite dishes), Ginny hadn't been able to spend a moment with her second oldest brother; the last time she'd seen him had been the day of Percy's funeral, the day they had mourned together under Percy's aspen tree.  
  
During spells of fair weather, the aspen tree had been Percy's favourite spot, a refuge from the noise of the Burrow. He would sit under its wide branches for hours-doing homework, writing letters to Penelope and constantly making plans for the future. Poor Percy, Ginny thought wistfully, remembering the older brother she had always considered to be lacklustre compared to the others. All his life, Percy had tried to convince the world to play by the rules while the world, particularly his brothers, had usually ridiculed him. He had been pompous at times, driven by an ambition to succeed, seeing social position and financial advancement as the true measures of success. Ginny now suspected that it was his search for success that had been the true reason for Percy's estrangement from the family, back when Dumbledore had announced Voldemort's return.  
  
It was common knowledge in the Weasley family that Arthur had been offered several promotions at the Ministry, positions that carried increases in both prestige and salary. Percy had never been able to understand why their father didn't grasp at those chances with both hands, why he allowed himself to become the subject of friendly laughter at the Ministry. The fact that Arthur Weasley had been obsessed with all things Muggle since childhood had not been, for Percy, a valid excuse for lack of ambition. Percy had been out to conquer the world, but in the end, his need for respect and admiration had turned him into little more than a kowtowing drone. It wasn't until the night Percy left the Burrow for good that Ginny had understood what Voldemort's return would do to many wizarding families.  
  
There were two figures leaning against the broad trunk, bodies animated with conversation. Red heads bowed, Charlie and George spoke in the low voices of men sharing secrets, sharing a secret guilt that all the comforts and truths in the world could not erase-arriving too late to save a brother's life, sharing a deadly trophy, writing to the memory of an evil man in a diary-all these were actions started in innocence, done with a belief in goodness. But in the end, they all carried with them the knowledge that if only-there may have been less pain in the world.  
  
"Charlie's not slept since that night. He picks at his food and walks around the house like he's somewhere else. We've all tried talking to him, but he's absolutely convinced that he's responsible for Percy's death." Harry and Ginny lay cocooned in the warmth of the living room fire 'reacquainting themselves' as Ginny preferred to call it. The ongoing war made family reunions sporadic at best; the others occasionally received leave; but being the Boy Who Lived and the hope of the wizarding world was a round the clock job. The entire family had been surprised to see Harry at the funeral that horribly sunny morning, dressed in Muggle fashion, dark shadows framing his bright eyes. With a determination normally associated with a pit-bull, Molly garnered her adopted son's promise to spend the night at the Burrow. The rest of the family had gone up to bed hours earlier, eyelids drooping from ongoing sorrow the necessarily hurried activities of the day. Ron and Hermione, with the lingering self- consciousness of newlyweds, had finally relented to the lures of slumber less than half an hour ago, leaving Ginny to help make Harry as comfortable as possible on the couch.  
  
"If he believes that, I doubt that anything any of you could say is going to convince him otherwise," Harry commented, idly picking at a loose stitch on the threadbare quilt on which they lay. "No matter what, he'll always wonder what might have happened, whether or not he could have made a difference." He might have been discussing the weather; he spoke casually, his eyes dull.  
  
"That's no way to live!" she replied hotly, rolling onto her side to see him better. "To live with so much anger because of something that might have happened, something that you couldn't possibly have had any control over. Charlie hasn't done anything wrong and yet it seems as if he want to be angry with himself, wrapping himself in it."  
  
"Maybe he is," Harry retorted, "maybe he needs to. Believe me, Ginny, if it weren't for people like Charlie feeling the way they do, Voldemort would have conquered the wizarding world years ago. Anger allows us to do things that fear would normally prevent."  
  
He spoke with the air of a man much older than his nineteen years; so hard and jaded that she had to wonder if the shy but eager eleven year old boy she had met at King's Crossing years before was not some figment of her imagination. Even the young man who had broken her heart when he left Hogwarts two years earlier had not been so cold and cynical. Would this war leave such indelible marks on them all, sucking away hope and innocence to a point where it would be impossible to remember what joy was? Did she carry such marks herself, the physical manifestations of repressed fears and secret shame? Looking into Harry's set features, Ginny had a vision of such a life, if Harry were allowed to sacrifice all that was good in him, to truly become the Boy Who Lived, the sole saviour of the wizarding world. He might accomplish it, but the price would be greater than he could ever pay. Stifling the multitude of hollow words that teemed at the back of her throat, she reached out, closing the gap between them and cradled him in her arms.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry left early the next morning, taking time only, at Molly's insistence, to bolt down a couple of pieces of toast and a hot cup of coffee. The sky was grey and covered by a thick blanket of clouds that threatened a potent thunderstorm as Ginny walked him down to the gate; he wouldn't allow her to come any further. "It's too dangerous to travel by magical means," he explained. "Remus and Snape are pretty sure that Voldemort has spies at the Department of Apparation."  
  
They stood there awkwardly for some time, not quite knowing how to part. How did you send someone off when it was certain they might never come home again? How could she live day in and day out, knowing that Harry might die without ever realizing how much she cared about him, it had been years since she had told him. "Don't go looking for trouble, Harry," she muttered, blushing as furious as she had at eleven. "I'm rather attached to the idea of you being all in one piece." Oh,, wonderfully brilliant, Ginny, she scolded herself. Why not just say 'Oy, Harry, hope you don't die or anything'.  
  
Somewhere in the midst of her self-mortification, she became aware of someone's arms encircling her waist and of warm lips clumsily enveloping hers. Several breathless moments later, Ginny found herself clutching at Harry's thick jumper, hoping against all hope that she wasn't grinning like some bleeding lunatic because Harry Potter had kissed her for the first time in three years. Finally gathering her wits, she raised her eyes to meet his, "Well, uhh, that was nice. I mean, I didn't expect.Harry, are you all right."  
  
"I shouldn't have." A little flustered, Harry pulled away from her, his brow furrowing in embarrassment and confusion, a far cry from the hardened wizard who had duelled the most vicious of Deatheaters. "I mean.I've wanted to.sorry, Ginny.This isn't the right time to do this."  
  
She could have slapped him for ruining such a perfect moment-Mum was right, even the best of men were utter gits. After all the fantasies she'd had of Harry kissing her or of being kissed at all, was he tell her it was all a mistake? Disguising annoyance and confusion with a healthy does of nonchalance, Ginny occupied herself in brushing his unruly black mop of hair away from his face, giving her itchy hands the opportunity to run themselves over the features she had memorized since childhood. "Really, Harry. We're in the middle of a war, our world is completely upside down and we may never lay eyes upon each other again. Granted, I'm not an authority on this type of thing, outside of novels, that is, but I think we've chosen the perfect time to do this."  
  
He caught her by the wrists, wrenching her hands from their occupation and forcing her attention to his voice. "Damn it, Ginny, will you listen to me? This isn't one of those silly romance novels you girls used to giggle over in the common room. Nothing has changed since we left Hogwarts-if anything it's more dangerous for me to be with you now than ever. And you.you act like it's nothing!?!? Or haven't your parents suffered enough with the loss of one child?"  
  
This time she slapped him-packing all the pain and fear she felt into the wide swing of her arm finding deep satisfaction in the sound of her hand as it cracked against his features, -always so damnedly cold, always so heroic and self-sacrificing. How dare he bring Percy in this! The Weasley temper, infamous in certain wizard circles, was in full force, enough to almost distract her from the hard throbbing surging from her left hand. "When is it going to stop being dangerous? When you defeat Voldemort? When you capture Wormtail? When all the Death Eaters are identified? I'm sick of it, Harry-waiting for you to tell me it's all right to love you.there's always going to be danger of some kind. I'm sick of everyone leaving and leaving me behind.I'm sick to trying to be brave while you all get to be useful"  
  
"I can't do this, Ginny! Not with you, my best mate's sister" he pleaded with her, eyes wild with desperation and fear. "Everything that he's done.innocent people who had no part in this war: the Dursleys, Cedric.I've lost so many people that I couldn't stand another one.my parents.Hagrid.you all are the only family I have left. After all your parents have done for me...putting you in danger would be the worst kind of betrayal" He straightened up, his back ramrod stiff and unnatural. "I know what you want me to admit-I'm scared, Ginny-but I can't afford to be. You've been waiting for me, Ginny, but I'm going to ask you to stop; forget that I exist, forget that we ever felt anything for one another."  
  
"Let's be realistic, shall we? Nobody finds the love of their life at ten! It's a fairy tale, Ginny, and I'm no knight in shining armour, no Prince Charming. I'm nothing but a bloke with a scar and an amazing amount of dumb luck." With a self-deprecating smirk, Harry Potter walked out the front gate and down the lane, vanishing from her sight just as the storm clouds broke and the first lightning bolt cracked across the sky.  
  
* * *  
  
Charlie was only the first to come home that spring. By ones and twos, the warriors of the wizarding world passed over home lintels, where their families were ready with exuberant welcome. In the local pubs, crowds gathered about these wizards or witches, pressing endless rounds into their weary hands. Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnegan settled into a tiny flat in Diagon Alley where the breeze often carried the aroma of tea leaves and heavy incense that were used in the Divination shop that Lavender co-owned with Parvati Patil, who drifted the world with the memory of Dean Thomas dull in her dark eyes. George reported seeing Eloise Midgen buying her nephew a box of Canary Cremes at the joke shop, which he had reopened with some not so gentle prodding from Angelina.  
  
The Burrow, silent for so long, sprang back to life as the garden came into bloom. Bill was the next to stroll through the rickety gate shaded by two large (magically enhanced) hawthorns, Ron and Hermione followed soon after, their weary eyes brightening a bit as they wandered up a front walk bordered by snowdrops, persicaria, and white periwinkle. And Ginny waited, her ears carefully attuned to the slight creak that signalled an arrival at the gate. Weeks passed without even a hint of Harry.  
  
In the passing of what felt like moments, the first day of summer arrived and the Weasley family garden was filled practically to bursting-with Bill and Ron swooping down from the sky on their brooms in a pick up game of Quidditch while George and Charlie chased little Fred and Molly through the clusters of irises, bluebells, and scarlet geraniums framing the house; shrieks of delight flowing on the June breeze to where Ginny and her sisters-in-law lazed in the shade, sipping on iced pumpkin juice. "It's good to hear them laugh," Angelina commented. "After Fred died, it was a chore for Molly to string two words together-I wondered if they would ever really have the chance to be children."  
  
Hermione smiled, "Children are far more resilient than we give them credit for-besides, they're part Weasley, a force to be reckoned with."  
  
Ginny sent a playful swat at her friend. "May I remind you that you're both Weasleys now? Or should I ask Mum to have a chat with her daughters-in- law?"  
  
"Heavens forbid." Widening her eyes in mock horror, Hermione rolled to her feet and brushed bit of grass from her jeans. "I should really look through all the boxes Ron and I left in the attic after. I bet there are loads of things on the Ministry entrance exam I've forgotten! Anyone care to help?"  
  
"Um, much as I'd like to," Angelina smirked, also getting to her feet while exchanging an amused look with Ginny, "I'd better check on George before the children handicap him." She jogged towards the house, leaving the other two women to chat.  
  
"Do you think there's something going on between those two?" Hermione asked.  
  
Ginny shrugged, swallowing a swig of pumpkin juice. "Mum's keen on the idea, but Charlie thinks George is afraid of trying to replace Fred-it would just be too neat, don't you think?"  
  
"Perhaps." The older woman blushed. "I suppose I'm becoming unbearable romantic-wanting everyone to pair off and be as happy as I am-like you and Harry, for example?"  
  
"Harry and I ended a long time ago, Hermione. After he left Hogwarts, there wasn't time for romance and now-well, he knows there's more in the world than his best friends little sister."  
  
"He's had an awful amount on his plate," Hermione admonished, although not harshly. "Harry's lost so many people.he still feels responsible for bringing us all into it-as if we wouldn't have joined anyways, but that's how it is."  
  
"It was a perfect description of Harry. Ginny smiled weakly. "He's so stubborn-maddeningly at times, really."  
  
"The best of men are," Hermione replied evenly, as her husband flew by them in an attempt to seize the Quaffle. "Wait for him, Ginny, if you love him. He needs all the love he can get."  
  
Ginny hugged her sister-in-law in silent thanks, self-conscious of the tears rolling down her cheeks until she saw the wet gleam of Hermione's cheeks. Grinning like fools, they began to wipe their eyes, jumping when someone snorted in amusement from behind.  
  
"Why do women always cry when they're together?" Harry teased, doing a poor job at containing his laughter.  
  
Hermione leapt to her feet, shaking her finger. "And I supposed the rationale approach would be to beat the stuffing out of each other." Before he had a chance to retort, Hermione seized Harry in a great hug. "Why didn't you send work, Harry? Come in, Molly is anxious to see you." Caught up in the moment, Hermione led Harry towards the house, leaving him barely the time to meet Ginny's eye in welcome.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry and Ginny cuddled up on a bench just outside the Great Hall, escaping the inordinate heat that came from crowds of bodies pressed together on the dance floor. The air on the balcony, though hardly warm, was temperate enough to assume the use of magic and Professor Flitwick had charmed the rose bushes into bloom. Some of students thought having a Yule Ball was irreverent when their families were fighting a war-but Professor Dumbledore had announced a need to boost school morale, noting that a gloomy Christmas would not aid resistance fighters any more than being cheerful.  
  
Seemingly from out of thin air, Harry produced two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, thoroughly enjoying Ginny's confusion. "It's nice to have friends in the kitchen," he grinned.  
  
"Harry," she scolded, "can you imagine what Hermione would say if she knew."  
  
Harry was clearly nonplussed by the thread of the Head Girl's wrath. "Dobby would be hurt if I didn't visit him and the other house elves insist.really, it's beyond my control."  
  
"Oh, you!" She tried to sound upset but, failing completely, opted to put her hand in his, still self-conscious of doing so even after six months of dating. "What a perfect night-even Dumbledore couldn't make one so fine."  
  
Harry leaned back to have a better look. "Look, there's Sirius.well the constellation anyhow. And Ursa Major.Draco is over there," he grimaced slightly, no doubt thinking of that star's namesake. "Ginny, I think I can see Venus."  
  
She peered up into the sky to the spot indicated. "I think that's Mars actually."  
  
He stared down, engrossed in studying their intertwined fingers. "Seamus and Dean swore up and down that girls always like to hear that.thought I'd see if they were right."  
  
"Oh" was all she could say, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze. She hoped he wouldn't be silent for the rest of the evening-he did that sometimes when he was embarrassed or felt foolish. Her mum said it was a result of living with those awful Dursleys for so long-Harry didn't have much practice with relationships of any kind. Drawing closer, Ginny brought her lips close to his ear and whispered. "Be yourself, Harry. That's better than any of Seamus' pick up lines." Closing her eyes, she lowered her lips to his cheek.  
  
Only to find the soft warmth of his lips instead. She jumped ever so slightly at this unexpected although hardly unpleasant turn of events, breath hissing through her parted lips as she deciphered the determination sketched across Harry's features. He kept close to her-hands planted on the expanse of stone bench behind her, tickling her with every breath as the tip of his nose brushed against hers. Just when she thought she might go mad with hesitation, his lips came to hers in a kiss that blew away the giddy delight of quick pecks exchanged up on leaving the Great Hall every morning.  
  
* * * "Knut for your thoughts?" Ginny started at the proximity of Harry's voice. She had decided to take a walk after dinner; after so much time of her and George being the only siblings at home, it was somewhat claustrophobic having so many other people around.  
  
Flashing her most winning smile, Ginny patted the grassy patch at her side, inviting him to stay awhile. "You'd be wasting your money-talk to me, it's not often I get to talk to a great war hero."  
  
Having stretched out his full length beside her, Harry rolled his eyes at this last remark-delivered in a remarkable imitation of several former star struck schoolmates. "Ask one of your brothers-they took as many risks as I did.maybe more." He pivoted onto one side, facing her with a wry smile. "You've had a few adventures of your own, I dare say."  
  
She laughed, temporarily abandoning the wreath of violets and forget me nots she had been weaving-an old habit from childhood. "I hated you all sometimes-getting to do important things, actually fighting evil-it seemed terribly romantic. And here I was left behind like always, poor little Ginny-but what else could I do-Mum and Dad couldn't have borne all of us going away."  
  
"No, of course not," he agreed, frowning at the sound of approaching voices. A signal from Ginny halted any inquisitiveness on his part, they lay hidden in the shadows as Ron and Hermione walked by, oblivious to the world around them. Her sister-in-law blushed as Ron poked tiny primroses into the long bushy braid that trailed down her back. Luckily for Ginny, Harry had his attention focused on the couple, else he would have noted the wistfulness that flickered in her brown eyes-joy that her brother had found his life companion and the trepidation that she herself might not find such contentment. The moment passed as the young newlyweds sauntered by; no doubt seeking a private moment in some far edge of the garden-earlier Hermione had mentioned a particular fondness for a nook among some ivy climbers.  
  
Already the light was fading-she had been out longer than she had intended- doubtless Molly was wondering where she could possibly be. Yet she couldn't decide to leave, she had seen so little of Harry, surely her mother wouldn't begrudge her that. It was so nice to sit there, the aroma of rosemary and ambrosia wafting about her nostrils and Harry's deep voice echoing in her ears. "I'm sorry?" she asked, realizing that he had spoken.  
  
Harry stared into his hands, clearly unsure whether or not he wanted to repeat himself. In the end, Gryffindor courage won out, because, looking right into her face he stated. "I always meant to tell you why I did what I did-that last time at school."  
  
"The night we decided to stop dating," she clarified.  
  
He shook his head furiously. "No, before that, my behaviour starting at Easter.right after Hagrid was killed." At the mention of their friend, Harry's voice thickened-his grief for the giant gamekeeper as fresh as it had been that day five years earlier. "I thought he died because of me.like my parents and Cedric. I didn't want anything to happen to you-Ron and Hermione were already too deeply involved in the fight to save-so I pulled away, thing you might be safer away from me. Idiotic, right, look what family you're from! I guess I was trying to protect myself, I cared too much about you to ever risk Voldemort or his Death Eaters harming you."  
  
"Hermione suspected as much," Ginny replied, trying to smile for him and failing miserably. "But after.when Percy died and you came to the funeral, I thought that it might be something more.that you didn't care for me in that way anymore."  
  
Harry grimaced. "I didn't have much time for romance-not that many of us did-but I didn't think it was fair to ask you to wait, even if you were willing to."  
  
Blast it-she would not cry-honestly. She could b as pathetic as a maiden in one of those sappy romance novels. "I probably would have-who knows how we would have turned out if we'd done things differently."  
  
On the ground, Harry searched out her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "I'm different, Ginny," he confessed. "I've done things that would chill your blood. And I've learned to accept the necessity of my actions. Can you possibly want me again, knowing that?"  
  
She squeezed her fingers against his, her voice cracking as she fought against a flood of tears and a threatening eruption of merry laughter. "Why don't we find out?" she asked, anticipating his kiss as the gap of air between them narrowed. "Perhaps we should get 'reacquainted'?"  
  
* * * It was past midnight when the young lovers returned home, the rest of the family tucked into their beds and unaware of the events that had transpired in the last several hours. Distracted by one another and all the possibilities before them, they whispered and laughed over lingering embraces in the abandoned kitchen-the only witness to the evening's revelations a wreath of violets and forget-me-nots and the scent of rosemary in their hair. 


End file.
